as a reward for his services in one of the severest campaigns in history,
received a grant of two hundred and sixteen acres! You who will may look
at the plat made by William Clark, Surveyor for the Board of
Commissioners, and find sixteen acres marked for Thomas McChesney in
Section 169, and two hundred more in Section 3. Section 3 fronted the
Ohio some distance above Bear Grass Creek, and was, of course, on the
Illinois shore. As for my own plots, some miles in the interior, I never
saw them. But I own them to this day.

I mention these things as bearing on the story of my life, with which I
must get on. And, therefore, I may not dwell upon this injustice to the
men who won an empire and were flung a bone long afterwards.

It was early autumn once more, and such a busy week we had had at the
mill, that Tom was perforce obliged to remain at home and help, though he
longed to be gone with Cowan and Ray a-hunting to the southwest. Up
rides a man named Jarrott, flings himself from his horse, passes the time
of day as he watches the grinding, helps Tom to tie up a sack or two, and
hands him a paper.

"What's this?" says Tom, staring at it blankly.

"Ye won't blame me, Mac," answers Mr. Jarrott, somewhat ashamed of his
role of process-server. "'Tain't none of my doin's."

"Read it, Davy," said Tom, giving it to me.

I stopped the mill, and, unfolding the paper, read. I remember not the
quaint wording of it, save that it was ill-spelled and ill-writ
generally. In short, it was a summons for Tom to appear before the court